


someone to stay

by nctaliaromanova



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, POV Natasha Romanov, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Stitches, borderline romantic? im not sure, platonic stevenat?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nctaliaromanova/pseuds/nctaliaromanova
Summary: there's a ray of sun in her apartment.it comes mid-morning as a reminder,that at the right time, in the rightsurroundings, with the right people,she will be loved.───────────────────────────in which liho and steve remind natasha thatshe doesn't have to swim in the deep end ofthe water all by herself. because she's not alone.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	someone to stay

**Author's Note:**

> hello! :-) it's been sometime since i've written a semi-long one shot, so i'm so glad to finally put this out. 
> 
> i tried to write in a more stream-of-consciousness way, and also incorporated some of nat's inner conflict and turmoil. i hope it makes the fic better!! 
> 
> also, liho makes an appearance here, i love her so much <3 
> 
> leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed it! every single form of appreciation always puts me in a good mood and motivates me to write more :) stay safe and happy reading!

Natasha knows that fighting pain with pain is the worst possible option, but it doesn’t stop her from doing so. Not with the bottles of liquor littered haphazardly on her kitchen counters. They are barely counters— just an arrangement of mismatched side tables she had snagged from the market next to her apartment. Moving out of the Avengers Compound and finding a small apartment in the city was never on Natasha’s to-do list, but when the dust-ridden ghosts of her dreams plaster themselves onto the inside of her eyelids, she knows she has to leave. 

Slinging a jacket over her shoulder, she slides into a pair of boots and makes her way down to the neighbourhood grocery store just round the corner. Natasha thinks about the last time she’s gotten groceries, and almost scoffs in amusement when she remembers the contents of her refrigerator. Most of her groceries are dropped off by Steve, but he only comes by once in two weeks. Long story short, Natasha hasn’t been eating much, not at all some days. Walking eighteen miles in the frigid snow of Belarus, surrounded by twenty-seven other girls, with only enough supplies to last one of them a week, had taught her enough. 

A blast of cool air only exacerbates the pounding in her head as she pushes past the glass door, snaking her way around the aisles to find exactly what she needs. She grabs item after item from the shelves and deposits them into her basket. As she stares down at the combination of items in her basket, Natasha realises the concoction screams ‘self-destruction’. The last thing she wants is a cashier eyeing her from head to toe and raising a brow at what she’s put into her basket. For good measure, she throws in a cat wand she knows Liho will never bother to play with, and a couple of apricots. 

“No flowers for you?” The cashier smiles at Natasha as she continues to pack her items into bags. Natasha doesn’t seem to notice the heart-shaped garlands on the walls and the little cards with cupids printed on the front. 

Natasha gives a nonchalant shrug as the cashier tallies up her payment. The lady behind the counter doesn’t seem to notice the box of blade refills and Excedrin she’s thrown into the mix, and Natasha is thankful for that.

| | |

“Stevie!” A lady clad in a mustard bandana waves with enthusiasm, her olive green apron slightly flapping in the wind. The edges of his lips curl slightly as he makes out an elderly lady shrouded behind crates and baskets of tulips, daffodils and any type of flower you can name. A gentle smile forms on Steve’s face as he steps into the shop; being around Morita always makes him feel at home.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Morita.” Steve returns her hug, before picking up the stalk of rose she has left on the counter. “They look prettier every year,” Steve remarks as he twirls it around, studying the drops of dew on each petal.

“Why, yes! They _always_ do,” Morita gives a friendly shrug, “especially from the _best_ florist in town!” Steve chuckles light-heartedly, noting the wizened smile on her face. However, it falls just as quickly as it appears.

“Thought these usually sell out the fastest?” Steve nods towards the basket of roses behind her, filled to the brim with freshly-cut flowers. Morita swivels around, before giving Steve an apologetic smile. 

“Used to. Valentine’s Day just isn’t the same this year…” She trails off, resting both forearms on the counter and heaving a deep sigh. She looks out of the window panes and watches as the occasional car drives by, the world seemingly going into an eternal stand-still. “But I try to keep this place alive,” she adds, “for people like you.” 

Steve watches as the smile on her face dissolves into a thin line, and if he notices the way her eyes turn watery, he doesn’t mention it. “I’ll get two.” He reaches to grab another stalk, and he picks the freshest one out of the bunch.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got another girl, eh?” She remarks while busying herself with the bouquet of carnations she’s holding onto, before looking up at Steve.

“Didn’t have one to begin with,” he admits, “and this one’s for you.”

Steve returns the stalk to her, sliding her a five-dollar bill, before making his way out while waving goodbye to Morita. Her face has lightened up, and Steve thinks she hasn’t aged one bit when he notes her excitement as she clutches the stalk of rose.

“See you around, Stevie!”

| | |

Natasha locks the door behind her and sets the bags of groceries down. Jumping onto the counter, Liho paws at the plastic playfully, swatting the handles about. Natasha finally let the stray in a few days ago, on the condition that the cat would not interfere with her work and scratch up her couch. As she sits up against her well-worn couch with more scratches than she can count, Liho purring gently in her lap, she thinks the mini-contract had never been established in the first place. 

She downs a few caplets of Excedrin, followed by a shot of whatever liquor she’s pouring for herself. It doesn’t really matter; she has her eyes closed from the splitting ache in her skull that almost seems to stretch down her spine. It burns as they go down, but Natasha proceeds to unpack her groceries and toss the apricots into the fridge. She doesn’t think she’ll eat them, though. Maybe she’ll save them for Steve when he comes around, if he ever does, that is. It’s a Thursday, which means she has two days left before he comes in tow with groceries on Saturday.

Late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and Natasha has done nothing but make a weak attempt at nursing her ever-worsening migraine. She has her feet up on the armrests of her couch, head tucked in the opposite corner. Liho is partially obscuring her face as she makes herself comfortable on her owner, but Nat doesn’t have the energy to shove her off. There are much more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.

Like the towel pressed up against her abdomen. Or the quarter’s-worth of caplets left in the box by her couch. In addition to the horrible cramping in her abdomen, she has to deal with the ever growing patch of garish red on her soggy towel. She could either reply to the influx of texts on her phone, or continue to bleed out in her apartment. Neither seems appealing to Natasha, and in this circumstance, given the choice between pride and medical attention, she thinks she should choose the latter. 

| | |

“Hey, Nat?” The line picks up on Steve’s voice as Natasha sandwiches the phone between her ear and the cushion of her couch. 

“Hey yourself.” Natasha deadpans, before gritting her teeth together as her lower abdomen throbs against the weak compress of the towel. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Could you c’me over with a bag of cat food? If it’s not too far away...” Natasha throws out an easy lie off the top of her head, praying that he doesn’t dwell too much into the thought.

“Running an animal shelter now?” Steve chuckles, and Natasha can hear the sound of him clicking his front door shut. Which means he’ll be on his way. Which means he’s coming over. 

“Sounds like’a good retirement plan, I’ll note that d’wn.” Natasha doesn’t mean for it to be verbal, and she’s pretty sure Steve can hear her slurring her words over the phone. 

“Coming over in ten.”

| | |

He picks out a bag of cat kibble from the shelf, wondering why Natasha would ask for one. Steve decides to bring over a couple of groceries too, even though he’s a few days too early. 

As the lift doors slide open, he lugs the bags in both hands, along with the one-size-too-big bag of cat food. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so much of it. Her front door is ajar, and Steve takes it as a sign for him to walk in.

He pans around the apartment as he sets the groceries down, dust swirling about in the air from his movements. As he keeps a carton of milk in the fridge and puts away the pasta in her cabinets, Steve eyes a pair of feet sticking out from the front of the couch.

Walking towards her, he dusts his hands and stares at her current predicament. There’s a black cat strewn across her face, and he wonders how she’s breathing under all of that fur. 

Natasha has one hand pressed up against her stomach and the other hanging off the couch.

Steve reaches out with both arms to peel the cat away from her face, and quips a “ _hello?_ ”, even though he’s fully aware that she’s probably heard him enter the apartment by now. 

The sudden change in light makes Natasha squint in annoyance. “Good to see you, _Rogers._ ” She blows a strand of hair away that’s stuck across her cheek and massages the bridge of her nose with the other hand. The headache has dulled but that doesn’t mean the pain in her abdomen has subsided in any way.

Liho flops around lazily in Steve’s arms, her tail coiling itself around his hip and her paw outstretched towards his chin.

“Who’s this fella?” Steve tickles her belly gently, and he thinks that she acts more like a dog than a cat, really.

“An unwelcome visitor.”

“Seems pretty welcomed to me,” he eyes the numerous chewed up cat wands littered across the floorboards and the bag of cat food Natasha requested for. “Considering the fact that I just took a trip to the grocery shop for a cat."

Gently dropping Liho to the floor, Steve swipes his palms against his jeans to get rid of the cat fur before sitting on the other end of the couch, just by Natasha’s legs. 

“Oh my god,” Steve exhales as he takes in the sight before him, reaching forth to lift her hand. Natasha stiffens and darts him a look of irritation.

“Nat, come on.” He slackens his shoulders, and almost pleads Nat as she rolls her eyes. She lifts the towel away and lets Steve have a look of it; she would have given him a roundhouse kick to the face if her abdomen wasn’t trembling in sheer pain.

“Absorbency isn’t g’d in this one,” she mumbles, feeling something warm trickle down her side as Steve takes hold of the towel from her grasp. “I’m going to ruin the couch,” Natasha states dryly as she sits up and tries to plant her feet on the floor. 

“I think you need the ER.”

_“Bullshit.”_

“Nat?” Steve puts the towel aside and looks her in the eye.

“I can deal with it myself, thank you very much.” She brushes him off and part of her wants to beat the pitying expression out of Steve’s face, but she figures she doesn’t have the energy to do so. Another part of her wants to reach out and hold onto him, but it fills her with shame.

As Natasha makes a laughable attempt at cleaning off the blood with a couple of napkins, she doesn’t realise that Steve has left her side and made his way into the bathroom. The creak of her bathroom cabinet sounds throughout her tiny apartment, and Natasha is far too drained to protest against getting stitched up by him.

| | |

“You called me, remember?” Steve dabs a cotton against her skin and she hisses involuntarily. 

_Right._ She doesn’t recall why she had dialed him out of the hundreds of contacts in her phone. Maybe it’s because he’s listed under ‘Favourites’ and that button just so happens to be the one closest to her thumb. Or maybe it’s because the only number flooding her ‘Recents’ page is his, calls made every other day in an effort to check up on her. Natasha doesn’t know why he keeps calling, why he keeps returning, why he’s voluntarily visiting her. Her dingy place has nothing to offer, let alone the street her apartment is on.

“Yeah…” Natasha lets out a sigh of resignation, before growing silent as she eyes the suture kit next to her.

“Might hurt, but I’ll do my best,” Steve eyes her once over and rubs her shoulder lightly. It almost disgusts Natasha how good Steve’s palm feels against her skin, how good touch feels, if she’s being honest. Nat doesn’t remember the last time she’s gotten a hug— maybe it was when she said goodbye to Tony before he moved into the lakehouse, maybe it was when Rhodey returned to the compound back when she was still residing in it. 

Steve knows better than to start a conversation with Natasha now, so he makes each suture as quick and precise as he can, concentrating on getting the gash sealed shut instead of the way her fists are clenched by his thigh. Needles don’t normally make her queasy, and she doesn’t mind the pain, either. It’s more of the fact that she’s not tending to her own wounds but instead letting someone else do it that bothers her. Although Steve is gentle and she knows he means good, Natasha can’t help but feel the guilt settle in.

Liho leaps into the tiny space between Steve and Natasha, curling up into a ball with the intention of taking an afternoon siesta. 

“Hey, buddy,” Steve gently scoops her up and plops her down next to Natasha’s ear. Liho nestles into her hair and purrs softly. Nat makes an attempt to concentrate on the way Liho’s nose twitches every now and then, stares at the shimmering reflection on her collar, all in a bid to distract herself from the situation at hand.

| | |

She doesn’t realise it’s over until she cracks her eyes open a fraction and notes of Steve’s presence next to her in her peripheral vision. He’s flicking through channels mindlessly while scratching the top of Liho’s head. She turns her head to the other side and finds the blade that she had wedged in between the cushions gone. _Shit._

“Nat?”

She sits up slowly and faces him on the couch, humming quietly in response.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. What should be?” She scoffs self-deprecatingly, slinging an arm over the couch cushion and raising a brow. She pretends not to feel the stinging pain in her abdomen from lifting her arm. As Natasha fixes her gaze between Steve’s shoulder and the wall, she notices a rose in her usually-empty vase. _That’s new._ There’s a bandage that goes all the way round her lower abdomen. _That’s new too._

“Cut myself while preparing dinner,” Natasha slips into yet another lie smoothly, trying to sound as honest as she can. “Stupid, I know.”

“ _God_ , Nat. Stop.”

“The vegetables were a lot tougher today and the—”

“Are we past this?” Steve cuts her off, and there’s more of concern than irritation in his tone. 

“Why?”

“Because I know you’d never cook for yourself, and it’s just…” Steve doesn’t quite know what to say next, so he drops his forehead to his hands.

Natasha starts to wish she had never dialed him, starts to wish that she had never picked up the phone so they wouldn’t be sitting here on her couch, having this talk. 

“I don’t see why it’s so hard for you to talk about it.” 

“You don’t see a lot of things.”

It scares him that there’s more of Natasha he has never seen. Because he’s seen her struggle in the deep end of the water for months on end and she’s never once asked for help. It scares him how she always remains this nonchalant about life and death and everything in between, how she’s always so insistent on being independent. But the fact that she had dialed him must mean something, right?

“I know everything, and it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Steve rests a hand on her lap and it surprises him that she doesn’t flinch or push it off. Her shoulders loosen slightly and Steve takes it as a sign to continue.

“I just wished you had asked for some help, gone out to get fresh air with someone, played a game at a carnival or something,” Steve exhales. “Or sent me a text, crashed at my place for a couple of nights, I don’t know…”

Steve’s chivalry and saviour complex irks Natasha to no end. It’s not that she thinks it’s wrong to render help, no. Steve has always been everyone’s first-aider, and sometimes Natasha wonders how he never gets tired of it. It’s because she’s never been offered this much help in a long, long time. She doesn’t know how to respond to it, because she’s never felt it. 

“You can’t fix it, you know that, right?” Natasha finally speaks up, and this time she sounds less aggressive than she did before, her tone almost leaning towards dejection. Steve’s eyes widen in anticipation.

“I can’t. Not all of it. But I’m going to try, Nat.” Steve admits, and there’s a certain tenderness in his voice which makes Natasha want to curl up into a ball. “You’re not the only one who’s felt this way.”

Natasha tries to remember a time when they were both okay, when all they had to deal with was government officials and politics and task forces. The decimation has numbed her all the way down to her toes and she doesn’t know if there will ever be a time when they’ll both be okay, when she’ll be okay. What she’ll never say is how much she misses Steve.

She doesn’t.

She really doesn’t.

(She’s always been such a good liar.)

| | |

“Can you promise me one thing, though?” Steve inches closer so that their shoulders are touching and he can feel the heat radiate off her. 

Natasha ponders over his question for a second. “Hm.”

“Talk to me.”

Natasha realises then what it means to be loved, silently. _Tell yourself that everything you love will stay with you, forever._

With a silent nod, Natasha reaches over to pull Steve into an embrace that leaves him wide-eyed. “Thank you, Steve.” She lets a few tears shed, but she dries them off on his shoulder before pulling away.

Natasha could never imagine herself asking this question, but she knows better than to hurl herself into the deep end yet again.

“Can you stay?” Natasha sighs, cocking her head to the side slightly. “Just for tonight if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll stay however long you need me to, Nat.”

| | |

That evening, Natasha spots the stalk of rose in the vase again, wondering how it had gotten there.

“Have a date later tonight?” Natasha brings it up to his face and pesters him. 

“When was the last time you looked at the calendar?”

“Like, never.”

“I figured.” He spins the desk calendar around and shows Natasha the date. 14 February.

“Uh huh,” Natasha raises an eyebrow at the box he’s pointing to on the grid, before looking back up at him. “14 February.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Steve carefully takes the stalk of rose out from the vase and holds it out to her. Natasha can’t tell if his expression is leaning more towards disappointment or incredulity. 

“Oh.”

But then he breaks out into a smile and Natasha graciously accepts the rose.

Steve makes it a tradition to gift each team mate a rose on Valentine’s, but this year, only Natasha’s around for it. If a single stalk of rose can lift her spirits, albeit slightly, she doesn’t let Steve know. But he sees it.

That night, the dust clouding her dreams finally settles.

| | |

In the morning, Natasha hears the pan in her kitchen sizzle for the first time since she’s moved in. The silver hanging from Liho’s collar seems to shine a little brighter, and the bluebird that perches itself outside her window sounds a little cheerier. A beacon of warm, yellow light casts itself onto the floorboards, and the sliver of sun that rests on her skin comes mid-morning as a reminder.

_That at the right time, in the right surroundings, with the right people,_

(Steve steadies a plate of pancakes in one hand as he pushes her bedroom door open with the other, a smile gracing his lips. He’s clad in a white tank and his hair is still slightly ruffled from sleep. Natasha smiles to herself for the first time in a long while and they sit next to each other with their legs hanging off the side of the bed.)

_she will be loved._

(“Really good,” Natasha remarks with her mouth full of pancake, before sliding Liho a tiny piece she had cut out for her. Steve watches as the cat pounces onto the pancake and attacks it like it's a mouse. Natasha watches as he lets out a hearty laugh and she reminds herself that she is finally surrounded by the right company.)

_Upstate New York is a good place for beginnings._   
  


**Author's Note:**

> finally writing a fic that ends on a happy note :-) it's been 84 years..


End file.
